


Norma Jean

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: I'm still in pain, My best attempt at a fix-it fic, Other, Ouch, and that's all I know, bughead - Freeform, is end game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: FP comes home to a mess.





	Norma Jean

Coming home from the joint is a painful process, one FP knows well. The sun seems too bright after days inside a cell without windows, and he’s certain he looks like hell. It will take months to get comfortable with the outside, and for the moment he wears his new freedom like a sandpaper shirt.

He arrives at the trailer, unlocks the door, and finds Jughead on the couch with both feet up on the only pillow. “Hey,” FP growls. “Sorry to ruin your fun. I’m home and all that.”

His son’s a good kid. FP will give Gladys that much credit – she did a good job of making both kids respectful. “Dad!” Jughead exclaims, struggling upright. “I didn’t expect you today. Why didn’t you call? I’d have been there to pick you up.”

“Pick me up, huh? On Marilyn?” FP grins and jerks one thumb in the direction of the motorcycle, leaning drunkenly under a tarp beside the trailer.

“Yeah. Marilyn.” Jughead churns out a fake laugh, and FP’s ears prick up. Something’s wrong, but he’s too exhausted to figure out what it is. “Want some food? I think there’s leftover pizza. I can heat it up or go and get groceries if you want.”

FP waves off the offer and mumbles that he’s thirsty, not hungry. The statement makes Jughead’s eyes, always so blue and steadfast, waver and dip before returning to the laptop screen.

In the kitchenette, FP finds one last beer in the back of the crisper, cracks it open, and gestures with his Bud. “Writing away, huh?”

Jughead collapses back on the couch and shakes a stubborn lock of hair out of his face. “Yes. No. I was trying, but the words aren’t cooperating tonight.”

With a long sigh, FP eases himself into the couch beside his son. “You’ll get there,” he declares. “I know it’s been tough, but I’m back now. I can bring in some fast money once I see what’s what at the Wyrm. Make a few runs, get our finances in order. If things go my way, we can even move you back to Riverdale.”

“No!” Jughead slams the computer shut. “No. I don’t have to move anywhere.”

Raising both palms, FP placates the kid with a few OK’s. The beer is skunked, but it’s been a long time since he’s been able to drink. Already he can feel a nice glow. If he times it right, later he’ll pick up a couple of cases as well as a bottle from the Wyrm. Enough hooch will make life on the outside that much easier, at least until the hangover sets in.

Father and son sit in silence, dotted with the sound of FP’s deep gulps of his brew. When the bottle’s empty, he sets it on the floor and stretches out. “So how’re you doing?”

“Fine.” Jughead gets up, retrieves the bottle, and brings it to the kitchen. His boots clump on the scarred linoleum, followed by the muted crash of glass into a recycling bucket.

Through the haze of his first drink in months, FP frowns and struggles to collect his thoughts. The place is different, although he can’t pinpoint how or why. He squints at the floor, looks at the same old furniture. There’s a neat pile of magazines, set carefully in the center of the coffee table FP scored from the side of the road, and a folded blanket hangs over the far arm of the sofa.

“Hey Jughead,” FP calls. “Someone cleaned the place, huh? Been a long time since I’ve seen it look so good. And I bet I know who - Betty comes through and waves her Mary Poppins wand every few weeks, amiright?”

Silence. In the kitchen, Jughead stands, motionless. Against the flickering overhead light, the kid’s shape seems to waver.

No, the boy is shaking.

FP stands up suddenly and moves closer. Jughead’s breath whistles, a sound of pure pain.

“Jug? What the hell is going on?”

When the kid wheels to face FP, his face is white. Blue eyes blaze with a terrible pain, as though he’s on fire from the inside. “It was me,” Jughead grates out. “Who cleaned up. Not – no one else.”

“Okay, sorry.”

FP remembers grabbing the knife from the snake cage during his initiation. There had been the same kind of coiled tension in the rattlesnake’s body that he sees now. He might not be winning any father of the year awards anytime soon, but he does know when his son is hurting.

“I’m not going to ask for details,” FP says, as gently as he knows how. “But if you want to, you know, talk or whatever, I’ll listen. Maybe even come up with some bad advice.”

Jughead wipes the counter and slaps the rag into their sink. “There’s no more Betty, Dad. I might as well tell you right now. Sorry for your fairytale dreams of us being together forever, but it just didn’t work out.”

“You left her again?” FP is confused. “I thought we agreed she was the best thing that ever happened…”

“She left me!” The kid’s face is tight with exhaustion, as though he hasn’t slept in days. “In fact, she couldn’t even tell me herself. Sent Archie of all people to break it off. He was quite clear about her feelings.”

“Oh, shit.” Although he’s been on the inside, FP is certain his son is gone for Betty. Her spirit is so bright and determined, always floating when she walked as though she hid a pair of wings under that pink coat of hers. “Man, that sucks. Sorry, kid. What did she say when you asked her what happened?”

“I didn’t ask her anything!” Jughead grabs his jacket and slumps out of the kitchen. “You know what, I’ve got to get out of here. Buy you some coffee, maybe those poptarts you like.”

“No.” Somehow FP makes it there first and slams his palm on the door. “Hold on. You mean to tell me you never asked Betty why she sent Andrews of all people to give you the boot?”

“No, I haven’t. I really don’t want to face her.”

“Well, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.” FP huffs out a painful gasp of laughter. “I know that girl, and I know for a fact she would never have left you without a good reason. Was she acting strange before it happened? Did you piss her off?”

Jughead sags as though he can’t bear to stand up under some dreadful, invisible burden. “She can’t deal with the fact that I’m, you know. Hanging around the Serpents.”

“Oh.” It still doesn’t make sense. “Betty said that?”

“Archie said that. He was quoting her.”

“She told you to stay away, huh? And I guess circumstances being what they are, you needed help from the gang.” Sorrow wells up in FP’s chest. He likes Betty. When he told Jughead, a lifetime ago, that she was the best thing to ever happen to his son, FP meant it. And now, like everything else, he’s ruined it for the kid.

However, Jughead’s angry gaze wavers for the first time since the argument started. “Uh, actually she told me she’d support me, whatever I decided to do.” He shakes his head. “Which makes it even worse! She went back on her word.”

“Now hold it right there.” FP jabs the kid’s chest. “I’m a dumbass, we both know that. But I can tell you Betty Cooper would never, _ever_ go back on her word. What exactly did she say the last time you saw her? Was she upset?”

Jughead bites his lip as one tear, a slim silver snake, slithers down his cheek. With an angry gesture, he wipes his face on a sleeve and squeezes both eyes shut. “She – she said she wished we could be Romeo and Juliet but with a happy ending.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like a girl who wants to break up with you. I bet there’s more to this story, and I’ll bet it starts with Archie Andrews… Oh! Hey.”

For the first time he can remember since the kid was five, Jughead has buried his face in FP’s shirt. His chest burns with a terrible sadness. FP has done a lot of shitty things, but maybe – just maybe – he can do one good one. “You’re an amateur gumshoe, right? You need to find out what’s going on with Betty Cooper.”

With a mumbled, _Yeah maybe,_ Jughead shudders. FP watches, knowing what will come – a slow return to the light, the realization that Jug can do something to battle the darkness surrounding him.

“You’re right,” Jughead says at last, the first time FP’s heard him sound human since he got out of jail. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been an idiot, as usual, but maybe I can figure this out.”

“Okay.” FP blows out a long, scalding breath. “Sheesh, I’m away for a few months and you all fall apart! You need me, whether you know it or not.”

“I guess I do.” Jughead’s face creases in a pale shadow of his usual mocking grin. “My old man, coming to the rescue.”

 


End file.
